


not fade away

by clarkestrife



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, i literally don't know what happened, idk dont worry they just love each other, its fine, lots of ocean metaphors, not really hurt/comfort but sort of?, sex with feelings, this got unexpectedly emotional, this is just sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkestrife/pseuds/clarkestrife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clarke and lexa get drunk and almost have sex on the beach, then do have sex in their hotel. and, um, there's feelings involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not fade away

Lexa doesn’t realize she’s dizzy until the water splashes at her feet and the world feels upside down, the horizon turning every which way as her body sinks into the sand.

Clarke hovers over her, warm where her skin touches Lexa’s, and her smile is the only thing Lexa can see. There’s a sunset somewhere behind them and the sky is probably very pretty, but the way the last bits of sunlight glow against Clarke’s hair is all Lexa notices. The ocean laps at their legs, refusing to be ignored. The water here is as warm as a drawn bath. Clarke curls into her even closer and kisses her until Lexa forgets where she is.

This isn’t really something she does. Public displays of affection and whatnot. She loves brushing her fingers against the back of Clarke’s hand when they walk, pretending it’s accidental when the tug at Clarke’s lips reveals how she knows very well it isn’t, and occasionally she’ll find herself tipping toward Clarke in other ways. When she’s tired, leaning her head on Clarke’s shoulder. Angling her body closer than she means to. Fingers perched at Clarke’s waist. It’s second nature by now, but she never goes farther than those instincts take her. Kissing in public is far from the norm.

And yet here they are, tangled on the sand, legs intertwined and saltwater on their lips, thoughts cast over with a haze of coconut rum and too much sun. 

Lexa lets her hand drift down Clarke’s back. The surf keeps getting higher; the last swell was up to her waist. The edges of Clarke’s sundress are soaked. It barely covers her thighs. Lexa feels momentarily jealous as her hand travels further, brushing Clarke’s ass in her skintight bikini, until she remembers that _she_ is the one who gets to wake up next to Clarke everyday, and it’s the rest of the world who is jealous.

She kisses the corner of Clarke’s mouth to bring herself back from floating away into the gentle, banking waves of her thoughts. She can tell Clarke has noticed; she always does when Lexa sometimes floats away. She never makes her feel bad about it or pushes her too hard, though; she simply waits for Lexa to return to her.

She always does.

“We should go upstairs,” Clarke murmurs, her voice low and throaty. 

Lexa can’t stop pressing her lips under Clarke’s jaw. She licks the saltwater from there and feels Clarke arch into her with a soft gasp. “Why?” she kisses the word into Clarke’s skin.

“Because I want to put my hand down your pants so much I can hardly stand it,” Clarke returns, tilting her head unconsciously to give Lexa more skin, more access, more of her to devour.

Lexa pauses. “I’m not wearing pants.” She nearly giggles. Christ, the rum. Her head feels heavy and Clarke feels so good and the ocean is so warm.

“Thank God,” Clarke whispers.

They make it back to the hotel, somehow. It’s a beachfront resort, so it’s not that far, really, but it seems infinitely harder in wet clothes and clasped hands and the scent of alcohol on their skin. Everything smells sweet; the rum, the sunscreen, the ocean. Their room is dark and much colder than the humid evening and when they finally stumble inside, Lexa immediately shivers.

Clarke has already thought of it, somehow, because next thing Lexa knows she’s pulling her into the shower under a steady stream of hot water.

They’re still wearing their swimsuits. It feels both ridiculous and utterly appropriate. But either way it means Lexa gets to undress Clarke, her actual favorite activity on the face of the earth, and she gets to do it with Clarke’s skin slick underneath her hands and the steam rising between them.

Clarke presses her against the glass when it’s her turn to undress Lexa. Her mouth teases at Lexa’s nipples and her hand dips between her legs so briefly it’s like it wasn’t even there. Clarke is merciless when she’s like this, a freight train with a single destination: reduce Lexa to a whimpering mess. Lexa’s already so stripped down from being sleepy and sun-kissed she knows she won’t last long no matter what Clarke’s tactics, so if Clarke wants to draw it out, she’ll draw it out.

But then something changes.

It’s when Clarke lays back on the bed, towel abandoned underneath her, blonde hair splayed out in wet tendrils and though somewhere far-off Lexa knows they won’t want to sleep in a wet bed, she can’t bring herself to do anything about it with Clarke looking at her like that. Something in Clarke’s face shifts, barely noticeable in nothing but the moonlight and the twinkle of lights from the resort outside. Lexa sees it, though; she sees it and she presses a hand to Clarke’s cheek as she straddles her. “What is it?” she whispers.

Clarke parts her lips. She stares at Lexa and looks like words are beyond her grasp. “I just…” She takes a deep breath and presses her hand to Lexa’s where it cradles her face. “You know.”

And she does. 

They both float away, sometimes, often in different directions, but they always find their way back.

For Lexa, her thoughts moor her alone in a quaking ocean, a place she cannot leave until she’s ready, and when she comes to shore again, Clarke is always there, waiting patiently as ever.

For Clarke, though, it’s different. When she’s lost, when she’s drowning, she searches for a lighthouse with everything she has, hands grasping and eyes wide until she finds it. Lexa goes after her; Clarke cannot wait to be found.

Lexa finds her now with her hand pressed to Clarke’s sternum and her lips at Clarke’s forehead. She moves to her neck, whispers in her ear. “I know.”

When Clarke urges her upward, Lexa knows they are anchored together; they will not be lost again.

It’s this position that proves it. She always feels exposed like this, her knees bracketing Clarke’s head, her chest and shoulders in the open air, like she wants to lean down and curl away, but this time, she feels strong. Free. Like she can keep the lookout for both of them.

When Clarke’s mouth dips into her center, Lexa cries out, not even trying to stop herself. She grips the headboard as Clarke’s tongue works her up, exploring her softly, sucking gently at her clit, until she can tell Lexa is ready for more and her tongue turns more insistent. Lexa’s chest is heaving, sweat glistening at her collarbone even in the chill of the room, and when she chances a look down at Clarke between her legs she almost cries out again. The sight of Clarke splayed beneath her, her focus entirely on Lexa’s pleasure, is too much to bear. 

But it’s everything, everything.

When she comes, she presses her cheek into her own shoulder, resting her forehead on her arm, rising up on her knees to keep from putting all her weight on Clarke. She feels endless, like the moonlight has sunk into her skin and slipped the sun away. Clarke’s hands are soft where her thumbs stroke Lexa’s hipbone.

Lexa needs a moment—several moments—to catch her breath, but when she does, she’s leaning down to kiss Clarke fiercely, tongue dipping into her mouth and tasting herself, salty and sweet like the rum, like the ocean.

Clarke flips them and presses Lexa down on the opposite end of the bed. She braces her hands on either side of Lexa’s head and nudges at her jaw. “You are everything to me,” Clarke whispers.

Lexa’s hands come up to encircle Clarke, hugging her to her warmly, their breasts pressed together. She feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes but she shuts them tightly, willing them away. Clarke’s love for her is so much sometimes that Lexa feels like her body can’t contain it. “I love you,” is all she can say, whispered into Clarke’s hair, the ends of it leaving droplets of water on Lexa’s skin. She pulls Clarke back so they are face-to-face, and though Clarke’s beauty leaves her breathless for a moment, she finds the words and pulls them back. “I _love_ you,” she says fiercely, and kisses her so hard she can’t breathe again.

The kisses turn messy, urgent, like they can’t taste enough of each other, can’t get close enough. Lexa is already writhing underneath her again but she tries to force herself to still, to concentrate. She slides a hand down between their bodies and cups Clarke’s most sensitive place, thumb brushing over her clit, and feels Clarke gasp into her mouth. 

Lexa doesn’t let her lose her place. She keeps kissing her even as she slides her fingers between Clarke’s folds, drunk on the feeling of it, the slickness, the warmth. She works two fingers in with a steady rhythm as Clarke matches her with her hips, panting in Lexa’s ear as she tears her mouth away to breathe. Lexa kisses her skin instead; her cheek, her chin, her jaw, and slides her fingers out to rub faster at Clarke’s clit. Clarke likes to ride her but penetration isn’t what gets her off, it’s the concentration on that spot, Lexa’s fingers slipping inside her occasionally only to press with renewed vigor at her clit. Clarke makes these high-pitched moans in her ear that have Lexa whimpering, their bodies moving together, almost completely on instinct.

When Clarke comes, it’s shattering. Her body tenses for so long that Lexa starts to worry, and it’s only when she collapses and buries her face in Lexa’s neck with a drawn-out moan that Lexa works on bringing her back down, moving her fingers away and encircling Clarke once more, holding her tightly, letting the waves roll through her.

It’s so intense that they both simply breathe for awhile, bathed in moonlight and listening to the sound of the ocean waves outside. Lexa tries to trace her love into patterns on Clarke’s back, kissing the side of her head occasionally as she feels Clarke press her lips to the dip in Lexa’s shoulder.

When Clarke finally lifts her head, her eyes find Lexa’s with a smile. “How are you?” she whispers.

Lexa reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear. She just nods. She wants to ask Clarke the same thing, but she knows that Clarke asked the question first so that Lexa would not. The room feels heavier, hotter, and she wants to keep them anchored together. She takes Clarke’s hand.

They move to the balcony. Though it’s humid outside, the ocean breeze brings much-needed air to lift their hair from their shoulders and brush against their skin. Lexa holds Clarke from behind, wraps her arms around her waist, traces her hipbone and lower, but without any real intention.

“I’m okay,” Clarke whispers, in answer to the unasked question earlier.

Lexa presses a kiss to her shoulder in response.

This time when they lie down, the sheets are cool and soft and their bodies are warm. They don’t intertwine themselves, still too hot to be pressed together everywhere. Clarke lays on her stomach, Lexa on her side, and her eyes are drifting shut when she feels Clarke reach over to take her hand.

She falls asleep with her hand in Clarke’s, loosely grasping her fingertips, just the ghost of a touch to remind her that no matter how far out to sea they might be, they will never drift apart.

**Author's Note:**

> couldn't get this out of my head so i just had to write it. comments and general flailing about these two idiots in love are always appreciated. i'm on tumblr @ clarkestrife.


End file.
